


Sway with Me

by theladybeatrice



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:59:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladybeatrice/pseuds/theladybeatrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By mid-December, the whirl of holiday parties was growing cumbersome for Athos.  Had he been a guest at the many soirees, well, if he were honest, he wouldn’t have attended as a guest.  Protecting the king and queen amongst nearly all the nobility of France, its allies, and its neighbors was wearing thin.  All of the guests had agendas of a sort:  some to catch the eye of the monarch, some to advance their own financial gain, and all for some type of personal gain.  It fell to Athos to distinguish the merely annoying from the truly malicious.  As such, he hovered on the outskirts, always near the king, alert for unwanted advances.  It was exhausting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sway with Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a sequel to "Melting the Ice." To iiiionly (Tanis), thanks for inspiring me to get this posted. I hope it lives up to expectations.

By mid-December, the whirl of holiday parties was growing cumbersome for Athos. Had he been a guest at the many soirees, well, if he were honest, he wouldn’t have attended as a guest. Protecting the king and queen amongst nearly all the nobility of France, its allies, and its neighbors was wearing thin. All of the guests had agendas of a sort: some to catch the eye of the monarch, some to advance their own financial gain, and all for some type of personal gain. It fell to Athos to distinguish the merely annoying from the truly malicious. As such, he hovered on the outskirts, always near the king, alert for unwanted advances. It was exhausting.

This particular event was Athos’ least favorite of the holiday season. Held just a day after the queen’s skating party, this was the one time that the children of the nobility were invited, in fact expected, to attend. This was no children’s party though; the young heirs were meant to learn the ways of participating in a royal ball. How to dance, how to make small talk, and how to interact with the court were all important lessons for the future nobles. Not the least among these lessons was the chance to acquaint themselves with each other, and most likely, with their future spouses. The fact that nearly all of them were under their teenage years had no bearing upon the expectations. 

Athos had hated this event as a child. As a musketeer, it was even more tiresome. 

Before the arrival of the guests, the queen addressed all of the Musketeers accompanying the monarchs for the evening. In her elegant way, she suggested, none too subtly, that she would take it as a personal favor if the men saw to it that all the young girls had at least one chance to dance with a handsome Musketeer. It would fuel their dreams for months, she had said, with a sweet smile meant to be encouraging. It would do to teach the young ladies how to behave properly with a gentleman. Her own Ladies-in-Waiting would be expected to do the same for the young men in attendance. 

Aramis, of course, was in his element. His dazzling smile and sparkling eyes had reduced many a miniature noblewoman to fits of giggles. In others, he inspired dreamy eyes and breathless answers to his attempts at conversation. No matter the age, Aramis inspired admiration from any female. He was the most sought-after dance partner of the evening. 

When Aramis was occupied, Porthos and d’Artagnan took up the slack. Porthos somehow managed to make himself look smaller and less intimidating. His broad grin seemed to put the girls further at ease, and typically his dance partners left with good-natured laughter, not quite the self-conscious giggling Aramis inspired. d’Artagnan, being somewhat closer to the age of the noble heirs seemed to bring out both a little more trust and little more apprehension. The older the female, the more nervous. He was, of course, certainly handsome in an exotic way. His youth fueled the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, his attention might last longer than just one dance. To his credit, d’Artagnan did nothing to actively encourage such dreams.

Knowing that his brothers were upholding the queen’s expectations, Athos settled himself along the wall, sweeping his eyes through the rows of seated parents, ever watchful for the slightest provocation. About halfway through the endless evening, Athos noticed in particular a young girl, about eight years old he supposed, who was seated next to her mother. She had not joined in with the dancing, even though several Musketeers had spoken with her. Perhaps she was just shy, though her manner did not seem to suggest it. It was only when she stood, and slowly made her way to the punch bowl, that Athos realized the issue. She moved awkwardly with a limp, and she seemed to list to one side, as if one leg was shorter than the other. He wondered if he should have offered to retrieve a cup of punch for her, but the look of determination on her face told him otherwise. No wonder she didn’t want to dance, when merely walking was enough of a trial. 

Nonetheless, he noticed increasing sadness as she turned down successive offers. A particular chord in the music struck Athos’ ears which told him that the evening would soon come to an end. Perhaps he could do something for the child. 

He nodded to the girl’s mother before addressing her in a formal but gentle tone. “Mademoiselle, as you may have noticed, I have not danced all evening. You see, I have a bad habit of stepping on my partner’s toes. So, I have not asked anyone to put herself in harm’s way. But I wonder if you would mind standing on top of my feet, so that I don’t step on yours. If you agree, I would be able to enjoy myself by dancing at least once this evening. Would you do me the honor?”

After surprised glance at her mother, she eagerly nodded her acceptance, blond curls bouncing at her ears. Athos held out his hands and helped her into position. Carefully, he stepped backwards into the very edge of the dancing area, and maneuvered them slowly to the music. Focused on his young charge, he did not see Porthos elbow Aramis, nor the nod that Porthos sent to d’Artagnan across the ballroom. For once, Athos was oblivious to the silent conversation, and obvious pride, of his brothers. He did his best to make small talk with the girl, asking about her home and seizing upon the topic of her favorite horse. When the melody came to an end, he carefully returned her to her mother where she collapsed into a chair, breathless from either exhaustion or excitement. Athos accepted the tearful nod from the girl’s mother and returned to his place against the wall.

Just a song later, the traditional last dance echoed through the ballroom. Athos glanced up to see the girl making slow progress towards him. He moved to meet her, thinking she wanted another chance. He was surprised to find instead that she grasped his hand and led him carefully to a nearby archway. She pointed overhead until Athos glanced up to see a green bundle hanging from the apex. Once he had spotted it, she tugged him downwards until she could look him in the eye and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. She whispered a quiet “thank you,” turned and moved back to her mother. 

Mistletoe had never meant so much.


End file.
